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A Confession at 23:50

Imagine it as a rash; its itchy, its hot and it irritates you right to the core. There are different levels of inflammation that you can catch, ranging from the bearable to the insanely painful. You can have the reoccurring outbreaks of mild prickliness, which only appear in certain places, every once in a while. OR, and this OR is a bad OR because it’s an OR which no person deserves to have, you can have the full bodied blisters, which are constantly ignited and cause searing grief on a daily basis. It depends on your character, I guess, which degree of itchiness you have; if you are of a content disposition I doubt you would get this rash often, but if you are unhappy, insecure and resentful I could imagine how unbearable your rash might be.

It’s an unattractive trait to be sure; one that can creep up unannounced with not so much as a hello or good day to settle in on your heart like it’s a sofa-bed. It’s a squatter, a horrible green-eyed monster squatter, not welcome to stay but not easy to remove either.

I think everyone has this little green monster inside of them. I know I do and though mostly docile mine can be dangerously feral and has a tendency to pop up at the most inconvenient occasions. I think everyone would admit, if they were being really honest with themselves, that at one time or another, this green creature has had a house call.

And I have one that comes a-knocking most frequently.

So here it is; my third confession to you all – I have outrageous boob envy.

My classmates, NOT ME, my friends, NOT ME, everybody else got’s the goodies… except ME. So we are clear, right? They got boobs, I did not. Yeah? Oh… you got that the first time?

Yes/

Without my help? Oh…

Never mind then…

Sorry…

P.E was the worst. I’d wander in all innocent and flat-chested to get changed and BAM… BOOB’S EVERWHERE! It’s no wonder they thought I was a lesbian (not that the short hair helped or anything) for I could but stare, dumbfounded, at them. My eyes would always wander away from theirs and drift down to their chests; at their perfect perky mounds of boob. I found it hard to look away. My jealousy was so severe, so astonished and so in UTTER awe of their tits, that it wouldn’t stop looking at them. Its green eyes were stuck.

‘I’m unhealthily transfixed by them’, partly because I find these big bosoms beautiful but also because I secretly want to punch them back into their chests… I think being a pervert is better than causing physical bodily harm, no?

Mine are pitiful; to quote Bend it Like Beckham they are like ‘mosquito bites’. I wish they weren’t, I wish they were as ample as Kelly Brook’s are… did you see Piranha 3D? They were splendid… floating nicely underwater like inflatable balls of loveliness… Sigh…

I am honestly not a lesbian… but damn… I love her boobs.

It’s funny how many words beginning with B perfectly describe the boobs I want –

Bodacious

Bountiful

Big

Breathtaking

Beautiful

Boobralicious (look it up on Urban Dictionary… it’s there. Also look up breastaholic and breasmerized…)

Baps

Blimpish

Blessed

Bloated

Blossomed

Balloons

Bouncing

Bulky…

Bulky, really? Think you are desperately clutching at straws now… hum? This is turning into a dictionary rather than a blog post.

Ok, ok, maybe not bulky… or most of the others, but you get the idea.

It’s an unattainable desire, one that I will probably never get over. I can only hope that pregnancy will be kind and make my boobs grow to a decent proportion.

But, until then, my boob envy rages on…

So if you see me staring at your bazooma’s, I’m sorry, just take it as a HUGE compliment and know that it’s either that or I cut them off… which do you prefer?